


Rude Boys Don't Get To Play Soccer

by theboysgonehome



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: AU, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Child Yuri Plisetsky, Kid Fic, M/M, Otherwise it is entirely rated G, Rating is only for two instances of the f-bomb, Single Dad Victor Nikiforov, Soccer Coach Yuuri Katsuki, Victor Nikiforov's Extremely Good Gay Moms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 12:20:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21815326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theboysgonehome/pseuds/theboysgonehome
Summary: It's Phichit's fault he's coaching a children's soccer team, which also means it's Phichit's fault that Yuuri is having a meltdown in the bathroom because the Hot Russian DILF winked at him.Or, a silly AU in which Yuuri is a kid's soccer coach, Yuri is a six-year-old on his team, and Viktor Nikiforov is Yuri's very attractive single father.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Comments: 27
Kudos: 612





	Rude Boys Don't Get To Play Soccer

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [on growing;](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10916406) by [crossroadswrite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crossroadswrite/pseuds/crossroadswrite). 

It was Phichit’s fault, as usual. Last year, he was the one who convinced drunken Yuuri to take his clothes off in a fountain. This meant he was the reason drunk Yuuri had sobered up in a holding cell, so he was _also_ the reason sober Yuuri had to shamefacedly meep at a judge when he’d been sentenced to community service. Being a former amateur athlete, when he saw assistant coaching a kid’s soccer team as one of his options, he signed up for that right away.

Phichit had laughed at him. “Only you would pick running around after babies for months instead of picking up some trash off the side of the road and getting it over with.”

Yuuri shrugged. “I like kids. This will be more fun than garbage, I bet.”

And it was. Yuuri was assigned to a team of six-year-olds, and it was endearing to watch them chase the ball like a school of fish around the field. Yuuri had never played soccer, but his dad was a fan, so he knew the basics, and you didn’t need to know much more than that for six-year-olds.

He was court ordered to help for about half the season. He stayed until the end. Then the coach he’d been assisting asked if he wanted to sign up to be a coach for the next year – they were always short on coaches, especially for the younger kids.

Yuuri signed up.

So Phichit was the reason that Yuuri was currently in the park bathroom staring at himself in the mirror while his assistant coach – a very enthusiastic young mother – was running the kids through their warm-ups. It was because He was here. The Hot Russian Dad whose son was on the team.

At the first practice of the season, a little blond boy had shown up all alone on the field. He was smaller than the usual six-year-old, and Yuuri was pretty sure he was lost.

He knelt in front of the boy. “Hi, who are you?”

“I’m Yuri!” the little boy had said. “I’m here because I’m a tiger! My dad said so!”

Well, their team was the Tigers, and there was a Yuri on his roster. However, it was customary for the kids to be dropped off by their parents, especially for the first practice. Yuuri was about to ask where this little boy’s mom was, when he heard an accented voice shouting “Yuri!” across the pitch.

He turned to look and saw a literal angel jogging in his direction. His silver hair bounced over his forehead. He was wearing very tight jeans and a very plush sweater. Yuuri’s heart nearly stopped.

“Yuri!” the man said, reaching down to grab his son’s hand. “How many times have I told you that you must _wait for me_. It is dangerous to run off on your own!”

“It’s the Tigers!” Little Yuri was pointing at Yuuri’s t-shirt, which was his coaching t-shirt and had the Tigers logo on it.

“Uh, yes,” Yuuri stuttered. “He’s in the right place. I’m Coach Yuuri.”

The Literal Angel finally noticed Yuuri and smiled, giving Yuuri a slow up and down appraisal. “Coach Yuuri, what a coincidence! This is my son, Yuri!”

Yuuri decided focusing his attention on the child was a much safer option. “That’s great,” he said. “We have the same name.”

Unfortunately, this seemed to make Little Yuri’s face darken. “You can’t have it! It’s _my_ name!”

“Yura,” the Literal Angel scooped up his son into his very strong arms and about six months of Yuuri’s life disappeared. “More than one person can have the same name. This is not a crime.”

“It _is_ a crime if he stole it!”

“Yura, how old are you?”

Yuri puffed up with pride. “Six and one quarter!”

“And Coach Yuuri, how old are you?”

Yuuri couldn’t really handle being addressed head-on by this man. “Twenty-three. I mean, twenty-four.”

“There you have it. How could Coach Yuuri have stolen your name if he had it eighteen years before you were born?”

Yuri leaned so far out of his dad’s arms that he nearly toppled out, trying to examine Yuuri’s face closely. “I dunno. Are you a witch?”

“For the last time, Yura, we do not ask people if they are witches!”

And that’s how things got this bad.

Yuuri had mostly gotten it together. He’d learned that the Literal Angel’s name was Viktor and he had recently moved to Detroit for work, bringing his six-year-old son with him. He had also learned that he was single, but Yuuri tried not to think about that too much. He’d gotten a level enough head around Viktor to make small talk before and after practices, and he’d learned to mostly tune the man out when he was on the sidelines at games – which, so far, had been every game.

Yuuri would give him that; he seemed to be a very involved father.

“Yuuri?” Phichit knocked on the bathroom door.

“I’m okay,” Yuuri said. He splashed his face with water. “I’m fine!”

Phichit didn’t usually come to games, but he’d decided that today was the day he needed to meet, in his words, Yuuri’s Hot Russian DILF. “So, uh. What happened?”

“Nothing happened!”

“You’re just having a panic attack for no reason?”

“It’s like you don’t even know me,” Yuuri said, patting his face dry with a paper towel.

What had happened was that Yuuri had been helping one of his players retie his shoe, making sure the double knot was secure, when a shadow had fallen over him. Looking up, he’d been blinded by Viktor’s white smile and the sun behind him, literally casting a halo around his silver hair.

“Coach Yuuri!” Viktor has said, drawing out Yuuri’s name in that ridiculous way he had. “Would you mind assisting my Yuri when you have a free moment?”

“O-of course,” Yuuri had said. That was his job. Helping the children. Yes. After finishing with the shoe, he found Yuri, who had new shin guards and was struggling with getting his socks to settle correctly over them and refusing to let anyone but Yuuri help.

Yuuri’s not sure when it happened, but at some point, he went from being an evil witch who stole Yuri’s name to the only adult that Yuri seemed to like.

Yuuri knelt in front of him. “Those are some cool shin guards.”

“Yeah!” Yuri had the top of them poking out of his socks. “But I think maybe they don’t fit right.”

It was a quick matter of adjusting the Velcro on the back and hiking up his black socks, and the shin guards were snug and ready for the game.

“Thanks, Coach Yuuri!” Little Yuri threw his arms around Yuuri’s neck, and Yuuri hugged him back. That’s when he got the too-loud whisper in his ear. “Call me Yura. All my friends do.”

It was almost enough to make Yuuri cry. He held it together and sent Yuri off to fill his water bottle.

Viktor had heard the whole exchange. He’d settled a broad, warm hand on Yuuri’s arm, winked, and said, “He only let’s special people call him Yura. Then again, I already knew Coach Yuuri was special.”

Cue Yuuri panicked in the bathroom.

“Come on,” Phichit said. “Pull yourself together and go coach babies. The game is about to start.”

“They’re not babies,” Yuuri mumbled. Still, he took a deep breath and exited the bathroom.

His team of six-year-olds was jogging around the field, warming up, but as soon as they saw him, they veered like a unified pack from the painted white lines and made a beeline for him.

“No, guys,” Yuuri found himself saying, herding them back toward the field. “We’re warming up, come on.”

“Coach Yuuri,” one of the little girls on the team said. “I learned a trick; I can bounce the ball on my knee!”

“You can show me before the game,” Yuuri said.

Another six-year-old piped up. “Coach Yuuri, you have to watch me still! I learned how to do a cartwheel!”

Yuuri wasn’t sure what a cartwheel had to do with soccer, but he nodded anyway. “After warm-ups, I promise.”

The kids returned to the painted line in the grass and resumed their little jog.

Phichit was staring at Yuuri.

“What?” Yuuri asked.

“You’re like, the child whisperer,” Phichit hissed. “When did that happen?”

“I am not,” Yuuri said.

“Seriously, I didn’t realize you were actually good with kids?”

“I’m _not_,” Yuuri insisted. “Can you go sit on your camp chair and get out of my hair?”

Phichit raised his hands. “Fine, fine. I’ll just have a seat next to Hot Russian DILF.”

“His name is Viktor, and _don’t you dare_.”

“Too late!” Phichit jogged over to his folded-up camp chair and unfolded it next to Viktor, who had the high-end model that came with an attached sun shield and had reclining capabilities.

Yuuri was pretty sure he wasn’t going to survive this game.

Still, he watched the kids perform tricks for him, then assigned them their positions for the game. Yura was a striker, his favorite position.

“Ok,” Yuuri said, crouched down in front of his team of fifteen. He had his eleven raring to go on the field and his four alternates just as excited. “Remember, everyone plays _their position_. What does that mean?”

A little boy bounced up onto his toes to answer. “It means you play your part and let everyone else play their part!”

Another little girl chimed in. “No clumping up on the ball!”

“Take turns!” Another one added.

“Everyone gets out of my way,” Yura said from beside Yuuri.

Yuuri put a hand on his shoulder briefly. “Only if you have a shot, Yura. Remember, we work together as a team!” Everyone nodded. “Trust your team, and we’ll give it our best shot. Now, on three. One, two, three!”

Fifteen little voice shouted, “Go Tigers!” and Yuuri sent them onto the field. Their rivals, the Tornados, were also taking the field. Yuuri dared to glance back over his shoulder, where he saw Phichit and Viktor, heads bowed together over Phichit’s phone. This only spelled trouble.

At halftime, they were up two-to-nothing. There had been some following the ball like usual, but all it took was Yuuri shouting “no clumping!” and they scattered back to their positions. The Tornados weren’t as good at that, and it was proving to be their downfall.

The team parents took turns supplying snacks and juice boxes for halftime. Usually it was orange slices or grapes or something else cheap. Today is was Viktor’s turn, which meant every kiddo had a little cup of pomegranate seeds and sparkling orange juice. Some of the kids didn’t quite know what to make of the snack, but once they saw other kids shoveling the seeds into their mouths, they all joined in. Their hands and faces got sticky and red, and even the best attempts by other parents to wet wipe the mess away seemed to fail.

“We’re tigers!” Yura said, curling his hands into little claws and growling. “We’ll scare the Tornados away!”

“My little blood thirsty cat,” Viktor said, hugging his son.

“Dad!” Yura wiggled out of Viktor’s hold. “I’m a fierce tiger! Tigers don’t get hugs!”

Viktor laughed and Yuuri sent the kids back to the field, pomegranate stains and everything.

The game ended up three-to-one, Tigers taking the win. Yuuri lined up his team so they could high five the Tornados like sportsman-like winners.

Viktor smiled, coming to stand beside Yuuri as the kids did their high fives. “You’re a good coach.”

“Thanks,” Yuuri said, blushing a little. “It helps that they’re too young to need much actual technique.”

That made Viktor laugh. His laugh was gorgeous. Everything about him was gorgeous. “Yuuri, I don’t know if this violates the children’s soccer coach code of ethics, but are you free on Friday?”

Yuuri blinked. “I mean, our next game is Saturday, so I guess so. Does Yura need extra coaching? I think he’s doing fine, but if you think he—”

“For a date, Yuuri!” Phichit shouted from a few feet away. “Viktor is asking you on a date, stupid!”

Yuuri blushed, his gaze going from Phichit to Viktor, who nodded with a fond smile on his face.

“Oh,” Yuuri said. He clasped his hands in front of him and fidgeted. The kids on the field finished their high five routine and came back to swarm him. Yuuri pulled himself away from Viktor so he could high five each of them and commend their play.

“Did you see my goal?” Yura said, both arms up for a double high five.

Yuuri smacked both of his palms. “Of course! You were great!”

“I know!” Yura said, then bounced his way over to Viktor. “Did you see, Dad? I got one point and then I helped with another one!”

“I think that is called an assist,” Viktor said, hugging his wiggly son. “And you did very well, my little tiger. Very fierce.”

Yura curled his hands into claws again and roared. Viktor laughed and picked him up, hauling him over one shoulder.

“Come, little tiger,” he said. “This calls for a celebratory supper!”

Viktor grabbed his chair and his canvas bag, throwing them over the other shoulder. They headed for the parking lot, Yura’s chant of “McDonald’s, McDonald’s, McDonald’s!” fading into the distance.

It was only after all the kids had gone home and Yuuri was packing his coaching equipment into the trunk of his car that he realized he’d never said yes to Viktor’s date.

“I can’t believe you,” Phichit said a few days later. “You need to call him!”

“I can’t!” Yuuri protested. “I have the parents’ numbers in a coaching capacity, it would be immoral to use it for a date!”

“He’s the one who asked you out, Yuuri!”

Yuuri groaned. “But he didn’t _give me his number_. That’s different.”

“Do you want me to do it for you?”

“Absolutely not!”

Phichit pinched the bridge of his nose and grabbed his phone.

“What are you doing?”

“Don’t worry, Yuuri, I’m not going to call him for you.”

Yuuri glared at him suspiciously.

A few moments later, Phichit proved Yuuri’s suspicions correct when Phichit handed over his phone. “Here, I found his Instagram. Follow him and send a DM.”

“What?” Yuuri nearly yelped. There, on Phichit’s phone screen, was an Instagram full of selfies of Viktor and shots of him with his son. He took the phone and scrolled through the feed. There was a landscape shot of a sunrise, two of fancy dinner plates, then Yura’s face smeared with peanut butter, grinning at the camera. There was also a really cute dog. Yuuri wondered why Viktor had never brought his dog to a game. “I’m not sliding into a parent’s DMs.”

Then there was a picture, a classy black and white shot of Viktor, shirtless, sitting up in bed. His dog was lying across his feet and Yura was pressed against his side, a tablet in his hands. The caption read _lazy Sunday mornings_ and the sunlight cast light in stripes across the bed.

“Whoa,” Phichit said, looking over Yuuri’s shoulder. “I’ve never seen a man use his son in a thirst trap before.”

Yuuri shoved Phichit away, but grabbed his own phone, and followed @v-nikiforov.

The notification that @v-nikiforov was following him back appeared almost instantly, followed immediately by a DM.

_Coach Yuuri!_ It said.

“Oh my god,” Phichit said, having wormed his way back to Yuuri’s shoulder. “That man has, like, zero chill.”

“Phichit!” Yuuri shoved him away again. He studied his phone, considering what to type. _You don’t have to call me coach, you know._

_I know._ There was a winking emoji. Oh god, Yuuri was going to burst into flames.

_Sorry if I was a little awkward on Saturday_, Yuuri typed.

_No, I’m sorry,_ Viktor replied. _I didn’t mean to put you on the spot_. _I never want to make you uncomfortable._

Yuuri hesitated. To say Viktor hadn’t put him on the spot would be a lie, and Yuuri didn’t want to lie to him. Still, he was the awkward one, not Viktor. _It’s okay._

“Oh my god!” Phichit screamed. “Will you just ask him out already? This is torture!”

_I promise to admire you from a respectable distance from now on_, Viktor typed.

Yuuri realized he’d still not cleared up any of the miscommunications from Saturday. He didn’t know how to correct things now without making it worse. He decided to sidestep the subject entirely. _I like your dog._

Viktor sent a few heart emojis, then: _Her name is Makkachin and she is the best girl!_

_You should bring her to a game sometime._

_This Saturday! I will!_

Yuuri stared at the phone, then put it in his pocket. He didn’t need to embarrass himself any further in front of Viktor, even electronically.

At the next game, Viktor did, in fact, show up with his dog. She was a big, friendly poodle and Yuuri was more than happy to give her so many pats.

“Makkachin!” Yura said. He was holding Makkachin’s leash, at least in theory. “This is Coach Yuuri! He’s the coolest! Coach Yuuri, this is Makkachin, the best girl in the whole world!”

“Hello, Makkachin,” Yuuri said, scratching behind her ear. She leaned happily against his leg and her tongue lolled out of her doggy grin.

“Yura!” Viktor was again sprinting across the park. “What have I said about running away?”

“It wasn’t my fault!” Yura yelled back. “Makka wanted to meet Coach Yuuri!”

Viktor looked at Yuuri, who had knelt to give Makkachin a more thorough petting. In response, Makkachin had flopped onto her back to expose her tummy.

“See?” Yura said. “I wasn’t running _away_ from you. I was running _to_ Coach Yuuri!”

Viktor laughed. “Well, I suppose that is alright, then.”

Makkachin spent the entire game running up and down the sideline, yipping at Yura. Viktor kept a grip on her leash so she wouldn’t run out onto the field. Yuuri could see why Viktor didn’t bring her more often. It took a lot of energy. He had to be extra strict with her at halftime to keep her away from the kids’ snacks. Even then, Yura managed to sneak her a fruit snack.

After the game, another victory, Yuuri stood next to Viktor while they watched the kids high five.

“So, I was thinking—” Yuuri started, only to be interrupted by Makkachin, who was finally over being held back from all these exciting children. With one yelping bark, she yanked her way out of Viktor’s grasp and took off across the field.

“Makkachin!” Viktor yelled sternly, but she paid him no mind. She dashed straight for the kids, who were delighted by this big, soft, friendly girl. She was soon surrounded by the petting hands of thirty six-year-olds, and obviously in heaven. Viktor jogged out to reclaim her, and Yuuri sighed. Maybe fate was giving him a sign.

The next week, Makkachin wasn’t at the game. But neither were Yura and Viktor.

Yuuri fretted for the entire game. He felt bad because he knew he wasn’t giving the other kids on the team his full attention, like he ought. It just didn’t feel right without Yura, though. His spunky attitude often propelled his teammates to play better, and his energy left a void in the team.

That was definitely all Yuuri was missing. Not the way Yura hugged him tight or the way Viktor smiled at him. That would be silly.

Besides, it wasn’t even a big deal. Kids got sick sometimes. Yura probably had a cold and so Viktor kept him home. That was the responsible thing to do.

Yuuri couldn’t help himself after the game. This was coaching related, after all. He grabbed his phone and sent Viktor a text off the parent contact sheet.

_Everything okay?_

Yuuri put his phone away and packed up his car. The chiming of his notification noise almost made him drop a mesh bag of soccer balls all over the pavement.

_I’m sorry, I don’t have this number saved._

Yuuri blushed. Of course, Viktor wouldn’t know his number. Stupid, really. _Sorry, this is Yuuri. I noticed Yura wasn’t at the game today and I wanted to check in._

_Yuuri!!! _There were three heart emojis that made Yuuri blush. _You’re so sweet to check on us. My mothers are in town visiting, so we skipped the game today. It’s not often Yura gets to see them. How did the team do? Yura’s been asking._

_We won,_ Yuuri replied. _You could have brought his grandparents to the game!_

_Yuuri,_ Viktor responded. _Remember what a disaster it was to bring Makka?_

_Yes?_

_This would be MUCH worse. Trust me. I love my mothers very much, but no._

Yuuri couldn’t help but laugh. He tried to imagine what kind of parents could produce Viktor, and in turn, Yura. _He’ll be here next week, right? We missed him today._

_You are so kind!!!_ More emojis, this string a little harder to decipher. _But my mothers will be here through next Sunday, so no._

_Tell Yura we’ll miss him_. Yuuri was disappointed. That was natural. Yura was a valuable part of the team.

Except the next game, Yuuri was nearly bowled over by an enthusiastic blond six-year-old.

“Coach Yuuri!!!” Yura yelled. “I missed you!”

Luckily, Yuuri was good at catching kids by now. He wrapped one arm around Yura and used his own momentum to swing Yura up against his hip. “I missed you, too, Yura. Did you run away from your dad again?”

Yura rolled his eyes. “Running to you is not running away from Dad. We _talked_ about this.”

“Ah, of course.”

“’Sides, I ran away from Grandmas, not Dad.”

Yuuri looked up and saw Viktor strolling casually across the park with two beautiful older women beside him. One looked very like Viktor, with silver hair in an elegant bun. The other had short black hair shot through with white. They both looked completely dignified and completely out of place on the muddy soccer field.

“Grandmas!” Yura waved his arms and Yuuri had to grab his waist to keep him from overbalancing out of his arms.

“We see you, darling!” The woman with the silver hair called back.

Yuuri tried to put Yura down, but the six-year-old clung to him, so Yuuri settled him more firmly on his hip and resigned himself to a sore arm.

When they were a little closer, the same silver-haired woman grinned at Yuuri, then turned to Viktor. “Yes, he _is_ quite handsome!”

“Maman!” Viktor blushed. Yuuri was pretty sure he’d never seen Viktor blush before. It was kind of nice. “Yuuri, I’m sorry.” He reached out to take Yura, but the little boy batted Viktor’s hands away.

“No,” Yura said. “I’m with Coach Yuuri now.”

“Yuratchka,” Viktor said fondly. “Coach Yuuri has work to do before the game.”

“I’m more important,” Yura said confidently.

“It’s really no problem,” Yuuri said, but he was rapidly over-talked by the dark-haired woman.

“Yuratchka, why don’t you show us the best place to set up our chairs?”

Yura’s face scrunched up like he knew he was being tricked, but he nodded. “Okay.” He wiggled down out of Yuuri’s arms.

“Yuuri,” Viktor said. “These are my mothers, Genevieve and Victoria Nikiforova. Moms, this is Coach Yuuri.”

Yuuri extended a hand to each of them. “Yuuri Katsuki, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Yura is an excellent soccer player.”

The two women shared a significant glance. “Yura, huh?”

Yura tugged urgently at their hands. “C’mon, your chairs go over here!”

“Ah, yes, Yuratchka,” Genevieve Nikiforova said, her attention turning to the little boy. “Lead the way, my darling.”

His grandmothers allowed themselves to be dragged over to the sidelines. Viktor stayed behind. “Uh, sorry about them.”

Yuuri knew he was blushing. “It’s okay. It’s nice that they came.”

“Yura threw a fit about missing another game,” Viktor shrugged. “I can’t tell if he just likes playing, or if he likes you.”

“I’m sure it’s the game,” Yuuri said quickly. “He’s a competitive boy.”

Viktor got a little closer. “You’re also a very compelling reason to be here, Yuuri.”

As if they were alone, and not standing in the middle of a field with other parents and children beginning to arrive, Viktor reached out and ran a finger down Yuuri’s jaw to his chin. Yuuri swallowed audibly.

“Dad!” Yura yelled. “You gotta bring the chairs!”

Viktor smirked at Yuuri, then turned his back to him. He had three of the high-end camp chairs strapped to his back and still managed to look elegant.

Yuuri was pretty sure he was going to pass out.

“Phichit,” Yuuri whimpered into his phone on the way home. “I’m pretty sure Viktor is trying to kill me.”

“Hmm,” Phichit sounded highly amused. “I’m pretty sure he’s trying to fuck you, actually.”

“That’s worse?”

Phichit sputtered into the phone. “Wait, what? I thought you were just being oblivious-Yuuri! What do you mean, that’s worse?”

“Phichit.” Yuuri rolled his eyes. “I’m not completely naïve. I know he tried to ask me out that one time. And he still seems interested. But I don’t want him to fuck me.”

Phichit seemed truly lost. “You want… to fuck… him?”

“That’s not what I meant! I mean, he’s got a little boy and everything. I…” Yuuri realized the truth as he was saying it. “I don’t want to have a fling with him. I really like him. He’s sweet and funny and a good dad.”

“Oh my god,” Phichit said low. “Yuuri Katsuki, have you caught feelings?”

“Ugh, Phichit, why are you the worst?”

“You’ve caught feelings! I can’t believe this!”

“Phichit, what do I do?”

“Ask! Him! On! A! Date!”

“It’s not that simple!”

Phichit’s voice went suddenly serious. “Yuuri, I mean it. If you like him, ask him out. Tell him you like him. Either he doesn’t want an actual relationship, you find that out, and you go your separate ways, or he _does_ like you like that, which is frankly the more likely option, and then the two of you go on an honest-to-god date.”

Yuuri sighed. “I know. I know, Phichit.”

“Good. Call him.”

“I’ll ask him at the next game.”

Phichit let out a long sigh. “That’s better than nothing, I guess.”

Except next Saturday, Yuuri didn’t. It was a bad day for the team. Three of their players were out sick and morale was low. They were also playing the Sharks, the best team in their age bracket, and they scored early, making the Tigers into a very pouty team. They were suddenly swarming the ball the way they had months ago, forgetting how to pass, and generally regressing to before all of Yuuri’s careful coaching.

Yuuri kept himself deliberately upbeat and kept reminding them that having fun and working as a team was the most important part of playing soccer.

“No,” Yura interrupted, his light eyebrows furrowed together with anger. “The most important part is winning!”

Yuuri knelt in front of him. “Yura, it sounds like you’re feeling mad right now.”

“Yeah!” Yura was always loud, but this was a different kind of loud. “Because we’re losing and that sucks!”

Some of the other six-year-olds gasped at the language. Yuuri bit back a smile and cleared his throat. “Yura, we use kind language on the soccer field.”

“I’m not on the field,” Yura said snottily. “I’m on the sidelines.”

“Okay,” Viktor swooped in, picking up Yura bodily. “Rude boys don’t get to play soccer.”

“No!” Yura struggled and kicked in his dad’s arms. “The team needs me!”

“Your team doesn’t want your rudeness, either,” Viktor said. With his free hand, he threw his canvas bag over one shoulder and dragged the chair behind him.

“No, Dad!” Yura yelled. The anger fueling his little body came out in his frantic kicking and flailing, but Viktor carried him away to the parking lot.

At first, the entire team was watching. Then Yuuri seemed to snap back into his own body. “Okay,” he said, gathering his remaining players to him. “We have just enough players to finish the game. It’s okay if we lose. We’re going to go out there and show them how a team plays. We can do that, can’t we?”

It was far from his best coach pep talk, but eleven little heads nodded along.

“Good.”

They still lost.

A few hours later, Yuuri got a video call from Viktor’s number. He answered a little hesitantly. The Viktor on the other end of the call looked tired.

“Hello, Coach Yuuri,” he said.

“Hi, Viktor,” Yuuri said.

“I have Yura here. He would like to say something.”

There was a little shuffling as the phone was passed from father to son. Then Yura was holding the phone too close to his face. His eyes were red, and he was sniffling.

“Hi, Yura,” Yuuri said gently.

Yura scrubbed the back of his hand under his nose. “Hi Coach,” he said with an audible pout.

“How are you feeling?”

Yura shrugged. “Sorry I was rude to you and the team at the game.”

Yuuri smiled sympathetically. “It’s hard to control ourselves sometimes when we feel angry. Thanks for your apology.”

Yura nodded. “Welcome. Can I play next week?”

“Of course you can,” Yuuri said, then paused. “I mean, as long as your dad says you can.”

From off camera he heard Viktor’s soft voice. “Of course you may, my sweet boy.”

With a thump, the camera bumped to the ground as Yura dropped it. Yuuri was unsure if he should stay on the call or not, but a moment later someone picked it up, and in frame was Viktor, Yura pressed to his chest, snuggling in.

“Thanks, Coach,” Viktor said quietly. “We’ll see you next week.”

Yuuri waved awkwardly. It felt almost invasive to be seeing such a tender scene. “See you guys then.”

Yura peered at him with one watery eye. “Bye, Coach.”

Viktor ended the call, and it was Yuuri who felt soft enough to cry.

The season was almost over. There were no championships for kids this small, so it was two more regular games, then a little banquet where all the kids got little trophies with soccer balls on them. Yura was at both games, and so was Viktor. Something seemed to have shifted between coach and father. Viktor touched Yuuri more freely. It wasn’t flirtatious, but rather a softer touch, like cupping an elbow to get his attention, or putting a hand on the small of his back as he passed behind him.

He spoke more softly to Yuuri, too. It was like the flirty demeanor of Hot Russian DILF had dissolved overnight, leaving only Viktor Nikiforov, Kind and Tired Dad.

At the end-of-season banquet, they sat at the same table and Viktor looked very dashing in his charcoal suit. Yuuri was in an old polyester thing he’d owned for years that had never really fit him right to begin with, but it was all he had.

Yura sat between them, and between cutting up his chicken for him and helping him keep his little tie out of the fruit juice, Viktor and Yuuri talked.

Yuuri beamed when he talked about doing his student teaching next semester. He also glowed when he talked about his ballet students, the job he had that actually paid bills, unlike coaching soccer.

“Ballet?” Yura looked up sharply. “You could teach me to dance?”

Yuuri nodded, glancing between Yura and Viktor. “If you want, yeah.”

Viktor made a face at the dry cake they were served for dessert, which is how Yuuri learned that Viktor was obsessed with baking, and that his specialty was the best chocolate cake ever.

“Dad,” Yura said, leaning almost directly into Viktor’s lap. “You should make chocolate cake, to celebrate the end of the season!”

Viktor cut his eyes over to Yuuri, who was carefully twirling up some spaghetti on his fork. “What do you think, Yuuri? Would you like to come over for some cake?”

Yuuri blushed and nodded. “I’d like that.”

“How about this Saturday, since there’s no game?”

Yuuri nodded and Yura raised his fists. “Coach Yuuri is coming over!”

Viktor laughed and nodded, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a grin at Yuuri over Yura’s wispy blond hair. “It’s a date.”

**Author's Note:**

> A million thanks to [crossroadswrite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crossroadswrite/pseuds/crossroadswrite) for letting me borrow Viktor's extremely good gay moms Genevieve and Victoria, who are her OCs and can be found in numerous amazing works by [crossroadswrite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crossroadswrite/pseuds/crossroadswrite). 
> 
> Many thanks to my friend Julia for giving this a once-over.
> 
> This fic was originally written as a bit of goofy to entertain my wife (who also very much loves crossroadswrite's work), and I liked it enough to post it. Stranger things have happened.


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